“I know that too,” he said. “Which is why I am counting on you and Hakkon and the rest to see the Plan through if I can’t.”
Delia felt her stomach turn to water at that moment. It had never occurred to her that Kordas could fail.
It had never occurred to her that he might not come back.
“Between all of you, you know the Plan in its entirety. I made sure—just in case. Meanwhile, get the crews and essentials over soon. That’s enough for now,” Kordas said, with a wary look at the Doll, which nodded. “Three days from now. We shouldn’t do this too often, and we should do it at irregular intervals. Never make a pattern for someone to discover.”
“Gods be with you,” said Isla.
“And with you,” said her husband. And they both waved their hands across their mirrors at the same time, breaking the spells.
* * *
—
“That was exhausting,” said Kordas, drooping in his seat. “I don’t know why—scrying isn’t that hard at home.”
“Because the amount of clean magic energy available to you here is nil, my Lord,” whispered Star. “You powered every moment from within your own internal resources.”
“Well, that makes sense.” He made a face. “And it makes things damned inconvenient.”
“It is what it is,” Beltran said unexpectedly. “Is there any way you can use my help the next time?”
Kordas blinked, because that had not occurred to him. “I’ll investigate the possibility. We have three days, after all.” He turned to Star. “I’m going back to bed, but I think you should bring me breakfast as usual.”
“Best not to break the pattern,” Star agreed. “This one will ensure that measures are taken to keep the meal hot until you are ready to eat it.”
Kordas put the scrying mirror that Star had found for him under a seat cushion. Since his own personal Dolls did all the cleaning, he knew there would be no problem with that. Then with a weary wave to Beltran, he had Star help him out of coat, waistcoat, and boots and fell onto the bed in his breeches and a loose plain shirt. The breeches wouldn’t suffer for being napped in, and neither would the stockings, and Star could get him a new shirt when he woke up.
He woke about two hours later, coincidental with another rumbling earth-shake, of two sharp jolts and then longer shudders afterward. Kordas barely touched the chain, and Star appeared with the tray, and a satchel that appeared very much like a falconer’s bag. He’d feared that his breakfast would be kept warm by magic, which, all things considered, was . . . not something he wanted to consider the source of. But this was not the time or the place to quibble about such things. He didn’t detect any trace of magic on it, so that would have to do.
“How’d you keep this warm?” he asked Star. “And what’s that?”
Star explained, “Towel-wrapped and kept in a steam chamber. This is something we have made for you. Something for your notes, and perhaps souvenirs. This one assumed that you would enjoy collecting things for sentimental reasons.” The Doll opened up the bag and wordlessly showed Kordas the wrapped package inside it, and then the inobvious pockets in the strap and body of the bag, which Kordas understood to be places to slip talismans and other items. Before he could ask about the package, Star opened it up by unlacing a tether-and-button closure, and presented its contents.
It was a carefully folded stack of long-sleeved shirts, dyed in random stormclouds, with modern flat collars and silver stitching for the lightning.
Kordas picked one up and simply gazed at it wordlessly.
“We do not know details of why this design is important to you,” Star explained, “but it is enough for us to know that it is. We consider it to be your personal signature, as much as the crest you wear is the signature of your people, so respectful care was put into its fabrication.”
There was meaning in that, and it was not lost upon Kordas. The Dolls lived as slaves by being merely adequate, and they manifested their resentment of their enslavement by expending not a bit more effort than was required. If they had put extra effort into these shirts, it meant that they considered him to be worthy of it.
I didn’t expect vrondi to be so knowledgeable about humans and our emotions. But Star said that what one knows, they can all know. Maybe they have collectively gained an in-depth understanding of humans?
Star helped Kordas remove the loose shirt he’d slept in, and drew the new stormcloud shirt into place. Kordas ran his hands down its sleeves and sides. “It’s perfect,” he said softly. The cloth was as soft as his comfortably worn shirt had been, despite being new. There was barely a scent of dye, either.
He loaded up on breakfast before dressing in anything more, feeling strangely more “himself,” despite the fact that what the shirt symbolized in his past was not flattering in every way. If I am going to be Kordas, he thought, I should be all of Kordas, not just the pretty parts on the outside.
“Where am I allowed to go?” he asked Star when he had finished.
“You are expected to be at luncheon and the Court afterward,” Star temporized. “There is but a candlemark or two before that.”
“Can I visit my horses?” he asked.
Star quieted, which he knew now meant that the Doll was talking to other Dolls.
“The Chargers have already been sent to the War,” Star told him. “The Fleetfoots have been sent to the racing stables of Duke Holiger, an Imperial favorite. The Sweetfoots are replacing palfreys that have become too old, so you may visit them, and the Golds are in their own special quarters, which you may also visit.”
He really did not want to think about the palfreys that were being “replaced.” Back home, they’d be sent to gentle retirement around the Duchy, as children’s mounts. If Delia had not already had her pony, for instance, he’d probably have sent her a retired Sweetfoot.
Dog food, he concluded sadly. The Emperor had no place for anything that could no longer serve its purpose.
“Have I time for two changes of coat and waistcoat?” he asked.
“Yes, my Lord,” Star replied, and went to the wardrobe, bringing out two of his old garments from Valdemar, as if the Doll had read his mind.
He got the garments on without Star’s help, and entered the antechamber, approaching the Gate. “The stables,” he said, and stepped through.
He found himself in a courtyard in front of a huge complex of stables, paddocks, and exercise yards. There were many, many horses walking in circles in those yards, tethered to a contraption like an umbrella without a cover, each spoke with a lead-rein attached to the horse’s halter. It was fascinating, but it revolted him. It seemed hideously boring for the poor horses.